


Alignment

by Crollalanza



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Cooking, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 15:46:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14475954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: Four people. Four people with secrets hidden behind smirks and insecurity.But what will happen when when 'Tsumu discovers the alignment between his brother and his friend is far less neutral than he'd believed?Chaos...





	Alignment

**Author's Note:**

> Because I had this idea and it wouldn't leave me alone. (Also San and Ginny keep talking about soft SunaOsas). This is set a few months after the Spring High.

“I just don’t get why he didn’t tell me.”

Atsumu was moping, and lay back on the bed to wait for the reply. None came—at least not straight away—and he huffed out a breath then flicked at his hair as it feathered softly on his forehead.

“Why _they_ didn’t tell me!” he said, raising his voice.

The tap was running and now he heard the buzz of a toothbrush, so he pressed his head further back into the pillow, stared up at the ceiling and tried not to brood.

“I guess you’re going to tell me I should have knocked.”

No reply.

“It’s my bedroom, too!” he protested.

“We don’t knock. Never have.”

Was that true? He frowned as he thought. Okay, so maybe ‘Samu used to holler that he wanted some privacy, but that was only when he barricaded himself into the bathroom. Bedroom was different. Bedroom was their shared space. The place where everything was a joint possession (sort of … okay, so they nominally had different drawers for clothes and a side of the wardrobe to hang stuff, but it wasn’t an absolute rule and—)

He buried ‘Samu’s angry expression from when he’d borrowed his new, and unworn, shirt returning  it with a rip, buried the guilt and tried to focus on the matter in hand, and a ‘how the heck was I supposed to know?’ type of justification. The trouble was that conjured the image of the last time he’d seen ‘Samu’s face …

“AGHHHHH!” He turned over, screwed his eyes tight shut and buried his face in the pillow.  His hands clenched, and despite his diligence in filing his nails, he felt the half moon impressions in his palm as he tried hard to blot the memories.

***

 

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

Suna blinked up at him.

“Do you think he saw?”

Rolling back on his haunches, Suna folded his legs under him, and settled on the floor.

“Did he see?” Osamu demanded, dragging his eyes from the door to Suna’s face.

“Considering we were wrestling on your futon, my hand was down your shorts and I’m currently shirtless, then I think there’s a pretty good chance he saw,” Suna replied, then snorted. “Just be thankful my mouth wasn’t round your cock.”

“Fuck,” he repeated, less stridently, then through gritted teeth, added. “I didn’t think he’d be here."

“I gathered that.”

“He _said_ he’d be out this evening.” His hands fumbled for his shorts, sliding them back up his legs.

“I know. I was there when he said it.”

Yeah, he had been. The four of them sharing pork buns after practise, Osamu had suggested a movie at his as their parents were away. Gin had cried off muttering about homework, and Atsumu instead of mocking him, had sighed, flipped his hair off his face and said ‘same’.

“History essay?” Gin had queried sympathetically. “We could do it together.”

“Uh … no … it’s that geography project. The group assignment. I’m meeting up with them at Mari-kun’s house.”

“Getting a good start on it,” Gin said, sounding a little puzzled.

Osamu bit back the small smile bubbling inside of him, and with deadpan eyes stared directly at Suna. “You wanna come over?”

And ‘Tarou, looking as if it were the biggest chore in the world, sighed then shrugged. “Guess so.” But when he’d thrown away his pork bun wrapper, he’d offered to take the others too, and his fingertips had brushed over ‘Samu’s hand, setting the hairs on his arm bristling.

 

“So why’d he come back?” Osamu asked, more to himself than to Suna.

“’Cause he lives here?” Suna said, and closed his eyes, an ‘I’m not a mindreader’ expression on his face.

“Fuck.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s … He … He saw us, ‘Tarou. He saw you and me and you were—”

“Well, I doubt he saw that much, but yes, he saw ‘us’,” Suna stated, then with a minute sigh he got to his feet. “So, do you want me to leave?”

“Uh … no.”

“Are you chasing after him?”

“To say what?”

“Maybe you could say ‘Fuck’ as that seems to be your word of choice.” A smile, one of his rare ones, twitched at his lips.

“You don’t understand,” Osamu mumbled.

“I do actually,” Suna replied, and reached for his shirt, plucking it from the floor.  “You’re embarrassed.”

“And you’re not?” Dumb question, Suna Rintarou was unembarrassable, brushing off the crudest of comments with a raised eyebrow and a drawled quip.

“Not especially.” He stretched his arms into his t shirt sleeves, pushing his head through the neck  hole. “How many years have we shared changing rooms and baths?”

“This is not the same! We were—” And then Osamu comprehended what Suna was dressing and reached across. “What are you doing?”

“Going home.” He shuffled his feet. “Take a raincheck, until you’ve sorted this out with Atsumu.”

“No… uh … stay? We can still watch the film.”

“There’s a film?” Suna mocked.

Osamu smirked. “No, but …” He took a deep breath. “Sorry, will you stay? There’s food and stuff in the fridge.”

“There was me thinking you only wanted me for my body.”

He shrugged. “I like hangin’ out with you, ‘Tarou, you know that.”

“True.” He lowered himself back to the futon, and brushed Osamu’s thigh lightly with the back of his hand. “Text him if you want.”

“I don’t want.” He scowled, but not at Tarou, more to the door and the image of his brother who had burst in so noisily. “He’s gonna be unbearable.”

“Probably. Don’t hit him too hard, okay?”

“Not even if he deserves it?”

Suna nuzzled his ear. “We have a game next week. I don’t want my Setter in hospital and my Wing Spiker under arrest.”

“I think I preferred it when you used to take photos on the sidelines.”

 “I’m a responsible captain now, trying to keep my team in order.” Then he smudged his lips against Osamu’s cheek. “Where were we?”

Involuntarily his eyes flicked to the door. It was a mistake. Suna shot him a ‘look’ then rolled off him, not returning even when Osamu clamped his hands around his butt.

“Hungry,” he murmured, wriggling away.

 “’Tarou?”

Blank, but not too distant, he ruffled Osamu’s hair. “Let’s find a film to watch.”

Osamu’s mum had left rice in the cooker, and prepared meat in the fridge, ready to fry together. (Even you can manage that, she’d said pointedly to the pair of them). Suna, rummaging in the fridge found carrots, pak choi and half an onion. Then, while Osamu was searching for oil, he pulled out a chopping board and started to dice. He liked cooking, Osamu knew that, a way of relaxing, he’d once said, creating something that wasn’t about an opportunity to score. 

Watching him from across the kitchen, seeing the precise way he diced the onion and then pulling at the pak choi leaves before turning his attention to the carrots, Osamu felt this urge to slide his hands round his waist, and rest his chin on ‘Tarou’s shoulder. Maybe press a soft kiss into his neck, feel the gasp in ‘Tarou’s throat, and hope that he’d turn around, drape his hands around Osamu’s shoulders and press into him. They could stay like that. Osamu breathing in the scent of Suna’s skin, hanging on to each other in the slowest of slow dances.

He shook his head. Theirs was not that sort of relationship. Hanging out together, sharing jokes, quick fumbles in the changing room when they were locking up, and the more leisurely make out sessions to punctuate studying at Suna’s house when his parents were working, that was what they were to each other. Clear cut. With unspoken  boundaries. No one got hurt because no one cared that much.

“Osamu?”

“Yeah?”

“Oil.” Suna pointed with his knife. “In the pan. And if you have some sauce, or maybe some ginger…”

“Sure.” He turned up the heat, adding the oil. “Think we got that.”

Suna turned away. “How many?”

“Huh?”

“Is Atsumu going to want to eat?” he qualified, his voice low but distinct. “He could heat it up later.”

“Think he’s eatin’ there,” Osamu replied, hoping he sounded casual. But his cheeks had flushed and he was grateful that the oil in the pan was spitting so he could turn away to give it some attention.

He heard the sound of the knife being put down, heard Suna’s exasperated groan, and then a smacking of his lips before he muttered, “Brazen it out, ‘Samu. When he comes back tell him we’re together, if you want. Smirk or something. Tell him I give the best oral in Japan and he should be jealous, or tell him it’s fucking shit and it’s a phase. I … just … get over it, okay?”

Adding the onion to the pan, and telling Osamu to keep stirring, Suna returned to the carrots, set lips, his knife cuts even more precise as he chopped on a slant.

“’Cause of the team?” Osamu asked.

“Because you’re quiet as a ghost and it’s unnerving me,” he snapped.

And that was new. Suna never used to get irritated, but recently he’d been peevish, coming close to losing his cool in practise. Perhaps it was the captaincy taking its toll. Maybe that’s why he hooked up with Osamu, needing a release of pressure, nothing to do with the game or schoolwork, but something outside of it to distract him.

 _Kinda like a decoy,_ he thought ruefully.

“Hey,” Suna said.

“Huh?”

“Onions are soft so add the meat, okay?”

Food always made Osamu feel better. The smell of it in the air, the anticipation of that first bite and then the taste on his tongue, all went towards lightening his mood no matter how dark he felt. And though he knew Suna would tease, he still let out a satisfied sigh and smiled across the table.

“This is good.”

“Feel better?” Suna asked, sounding innocent.

“Always do,” Osamu replied.

“Way to your heart, right?”

“Huh?”

Suna stared at him, his eyes hooded. “Or another part of your anatomy.”

“Ha … yeah. You could be right,” Osamu replied, and buried his confusion in a scoopful of the rice.

“So …” Suna began when they were halfway through.

It sounded serious. Suna was clearly picking his moment, judging it perfectly so Osamu wasn’t quite replete, but had staved off enough hunger pangs so he could give his full attention.

“What?”

“You’ll need to say something to Atsumu,” Suna replied. “You can’t ignore him for the rest of your life.”

“Gah, if only,” he joked, but it fell flat. “I know. I kinda thought he’d have texted by now.”

“He’s embarrassed!”

“Who? ‘Tsumu? He’s shameless,” Osamu protested. “Personality of sewage water. He ain’t embarrassed, just bidin’ his time and plotting something.”

Suna took a glug of his cola. “If you’d walked in on him, what would you have done?”

“Jeez! I don’t know. Apologised. Cleared out. Made plans to emigrate. Not sure I want to know details of …. Ughhh He’s my brother!”

“So why is it so unlikely that Atsumu’s feeling the same way?”

“Cuz he’s … he’s … Atsumu. He’s a shit!”

Shaking his head, Suna picked his way through the bowl of rice, selected some meat and held it to his mouth, adding before he ate it. “I don’t really understand why you haven’t said anything before. You know he’d be fine with it.”

_Yeah, sure._

Osamu scowled, chewed some carrot and then another piece of chicken. “Thought it was more fun sneakin’ around, that’s all.”

“It was,” Suna replied. “It _is,_ but … it’s not just between us anymore.” He gnawed on his lip. “I think Gin suspects.”

“Really?”

“When has he ever offered to study with Atsumu? Usually runs a mile because they never get any actual work done.” He was silent for a while, and started to tap faintly on his bowl with the chopsticks, going over something in his mind. “So, we can either come clean about it, or … uh … call it quits.”

“NO!” He barked out his reply, upsetting his own bowl so half his remaining rice flew across the table.

Suna tilted his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “I hope that’s you saying you don’t want this to end.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Told you I like hanging out. Don’t matter _what_ we do, ‘Tarou.”

“Then tell Atsumu, right?”

“Sure.”

“You’re frowning.”

“No…” He raised his eyebrows. “This is the opposite of a scowl. I’m H. A. P. P. Y.”

Snorting, Suna returned to his food while Osamu found a cloth to wipe the table and finished what was left of his own.

“Still think you, or we, should have told him before. He’s probably annoyed ‘cause we didn’t.”

“You know what ‘Tsumu’s like!”

“Yeah. He’d take the piss, but that’d die down.” He drained his glass, then got up to help himself to more cola. “He’d be angry if it interfered with the team, but that’s all.”

“I like having things to myself, all right?” Osamu flung at him, feeling a well of annoyance settling in his gut.

“What do you mean?” Suna’s hand had stayed on the fridge handle.

“You know what he’s like. Takes everything of mine. I can’t keep anything outta his mitts. I like having—”

Cola forgotten, Suna’s glass crashed into the sink. “I’m not a thing.”

“Huh?”

Although expressionless, Suna looked somehow greyer, and his eyes had darkened. “Atsumu can’t ‘take’ me, _Miya._ ”

“What?” He blinked and it was only then he realised what he’d said. “No, no, that’s not what I meant. I don’t think that. You’re not a … you just don’t get it. ‘Tsumu takes. It’s like he’s incapable of leaving stuff alone. He—”

“I’m not ‘stuff’ either!” Suna retorted. “Jeez.”

“Wh-where are you going?”

“Home. Don’t expect me to do the dishes!”

“No!” Osamu launched himself across the room, getting to the kitchen door a split second after Suna, but reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him back. “I’m sorry. It’s not what I meant. He’s just …”

“Let go of me,” Suna muttered, extracting himself. “I don’t want to know.”

He was at the front door, picking up his bag, and once that door was slammed shut, Osamu knew he’d have too much ground to make up, that something had inextricably altered, and could only be put right if he uttered an incontrovertible truth.

“Better than me!” he exclaimed.

“What?” He didn’t turn around, but his hand was no longer on the door handle.

“We’re identical, right, but he’s the better one. He’s the dedicated one, the one they talk about, the one selected to go to youth camp. He’s our star, always has been. Why wouldn’t you want the star ahead of the cloud?”

“Dumbass.” It was said so softly, Osamu wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly, but Suna did at least let his bag slither off his shoulder, and although he didn’t move closer, he stuck his hands in his pockets and turned around. “Remember when we first started … _this_.”

“Uh, yeah, course.”

It had been at Suna’s house, his parents working late and Suna had invited both of them plus Gin over to keep him company. But with a classmate’s birthday party, both Gin and Atsumu had arrived later, with large slabs of cake for the four of them.

By then, Suna had heated up the chilli beef noodles his mum had left for him, and they’d sat side by side of the sofa, thighs touching, although it had been a big enough sofa to sit further apart. He’d thought nothing of it when Suna had wiped some of the sauce off Osamu’s chin with his thumb, but the tension had thickened between them when Suna slid him a side glance though his sooty lashes, and then leant closer in. Or maybe Osamu had leant in. It was fuzzy in his mind, just that they kissed—a peck at first—then a laugh had rumbled in Osamu’s throat and Suna had stayed where he was. And still that thumb had been on Osamu’s cheek, smoothing circles on his skin.

“I knew they had a party to go to,” Suna murmured.

“What?”

“I fixed it so we’d be there alone. C’mon, Osamu, my parents often work late, but I asked you all over anyway, knowing Gin and Atsumu couldn’t make it because …” He trailed off and a despairing kind of chuckle caught in his throat.

“Because what?”

“Because I’d been bringing extra lunch for you all that term and you’d not taken the hint,” he replied, exasperated now.

“Oh.”

“See, I could have brought extra food in for Atsumu, couldn’t I? Maybe fed him fatty tuna, but … I didn’t.” A deep breath. “The Miya I’m interested in, the one I also like ‘hanging out with’ has the personality of … _diluted_ sewage water.”

“Hey!”

“But that’s okay, ‘cause I’m kinda like stinking garbage at times.” And then he stepped closer, looking worried, of all things. “Look, if you want to flat out deny it to Atsumu, then fine. If this is too much for you, then … look … this doesn’t have to be serious. It can be fun. It can be something more, if … if that’s what you want. It can be nothing. It’s up to you, ‘Samu.”

His name husked at his throat, and Suna hadn’t moved closer. He’d opened up as surely as if he’d left a gaping space in the wall of his block, and for Suna, he now looked insecure as if he should have left it, but had not been able to because Osamu had pushed and—

“’Tarou,” Osamu said at last.

“Yeah.” Suna stared at the floor.

“C’n it be something more?”

***

“Shall I call him?” Atsumu called out. “Or should I wait? Hell, he should call me, right? I’m the one embarrassed here!”

“What do you want me to say, ‘Tsumu?” The voice floated towards him, soft but cool, and Atsumu glanced up half expecting to see nothing, then held his breath as Kita stood in the doorway.

“What should I do?”

“It’s up to you, but you can’t hide from Osamu-kun forever.”

“Or Rin.” He flinched, remembering. “Jeez, they were all over each other.”

“They’ve been dancing around each other for months,” Kita replied, closing the door. “I remember before I graduated Suna started bringing extra food in his bento box.”

“Way to my brother’s heart,” Atsumu muttered. “I just don’t get why they said nothing.”

“New things are exciting, ‘Tsumu,” Kita said. He picked up a hair brush, running it though his hair, not quite the hundred strokes Atsumu had teased him about, but enough to leave his hair neat and shining. Then he turned and looked down at Atsumu lying on his bed, and his eyes flickered up to his face. “You’ve not told them about us, after all.”

“No …. But that’s different.”

“Different? How?”

He curled up and onto his side, hugging his knees to his chest, unsure how to phrase it because it wasn’t just that he couldn’t find the words, but that a multitude of answers had swirled in his mind yet they all seemed ridiculous now that Kita was actually in the room.

“Because,” he said and tried to shrug.

“That, Miya Atsumu, is a sentence fragment and not an answer,” Kita said, sounding stern. And then he smiled and sat on the edge of the bed, stretching out his hand to comb out the knots in Atsumu’s hair. “Tell me.”

His face flushed under the unexpected caress, and the confession he’d wanted to keep under wraps tumbled out of his lips. “’Cause I don’t know what _we_ are,” he admitted. “You let me come over, and we … uh … we kiss and all that … but …”

“I don’t let you come over,” Kita murmured, and brushed his fingers down Atsumu’s cheek, resting to cup his chin. “I _want_ you to come over.”

“Oh …” His blush intensified. “I thought last week you said no, that I’d … uh .. that you’d … um … changed your mind and—” He swallowed, more nervous now as Kita was studying him, his large almond shaped eyes scrutinising intently. “Quite surprised when you messaged me yesterday.”

“I told you I had an assignment due,” Kita replied, and feathered a kiss on his mouth. “And you’re far too distracting.”

“Oh…” He smirked. “Guess I am, right?”

“Don’t get cocky!” Kita reproved. “Or I’ll throw you out myself.”

“You’d let me wander the streets?” He opened his eyes wide, trying to suppress the smile. “At this time of night!”

“”You’re seventeen, it’s nine o’clock, and the campus is a bus ride away from your home,” Kita replied. His mouth curved upwards. “But if you’re scared of the dark, Atsumu-chan, then you could stay the night.”

“Huh?” He blinked, rapidly, aware he was doing it but unable to stop.

“Miya Atsumu—speechless,” Kita teased, dusting his temple with his fingers. “That must be a first.”

“You mean it?”

“When do I say things I don’t mean?”

“Then … uh … yeah, I’d … um … like that.”

“One condition.”

“What’s that?”

“Contact Osamu.” Kita reached across to the bedside table and picked up Atsumu’s phone. “Call or message him.”

“But I don’t know what to say.”

“You’ll think of something.” Holding Atsumu’s phone at arm’s length, he pressed a kiss on his cheek, and smiled fondly. “And maybe this will help,” he whispered as he clicked.

***

“That’s ‘Tsumu,” Osamu muttered, seeing the message flick across his screen.

Next to him on the sofa, Suna leant away, disengaging their thighs, and paused the movie.  “What does he say?”

Osamu snorted. “’Hi ‘Samu, hi Rin! Not coming back tonight, so you’ve got the house to yourself, Scrub. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’ Fricking cheek!”

Suna, scrolling through his own phone, laughed. “We’ve got free rein to do anything we want.”

“How d’you figure that?”

“Instagram,” he said, and shoved his phone under Osamu’s nose. “Check his latest picture.”

Osamu focused, and then his eyes nearly popped from his head. “Th-that’s … that’s … He’s with … He’s kissing …”

“Kita Shinsuke,” Suna replied, his voice quavering into a laugh as he clutched his belly. “It’s like one of those alignment charts—Lawful Good shipped with Chaotic Evil. Who the heck will survive?”

Holding out his own phone, Osamu leant in close, taking a selfie of the pair of them, then smudged his lips on Suna’s to take another.  “If we stay here,” he murmured, “all night … then we could shelter from the fallout.”

He expected Suna to smirk, to berate him for the cheesy line, but instead ‘Tarou tilted his face towards Osamu’s, threading his fingers though his hair to pull him close. “I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
